House of Cards
by Keeper of Tomes
Summary: Master Cyclonis X Dark Ace- "Their love never was meant to last forever; this was the truth from the beginning: a house of cards, waiting to collapse." 50 Sentences.


**House of Cards  
**

_50 sentences for master cyclonis and the dark ace_

To...well, no one, really. Huh. To you, then! To whoever's reading this! It's something depressing and sad and...well, just sad. And it's my first 50 sentences. So it might suck. I wasn't exactly _perfect _with the "1 sentence per theme" thing...But...Try not to be too hard...

* * *

_(kindling)_

**Air**  
There was a unique quality to the smell that clung to his skin, almost as if his body had captured the essence of every patch of sky he'd flown, every ray of sun that had stroked his self, and as she breathed it in, she couldn't help but feel a strange sense of euphoria.

**Apples**  
"The apple never falls far from the tree," they mumbled when she took the throne; and yet, he never compared her to her father, because inside, he believed with all his heart that she could be different. That she would lead them to _victory_.

**Beginning**  
She can remember every detail of their first meeting: the sweat clinging to the sides of his face, the blue uniform he still wore, rumpled and splattered with red, the proud and haughty way he held himself--the malicious glint in his eyes. Even then, he managed to intrigue her.

**Bugs**  
Every person has their flaws, every machine has its bugs, but they both hide theirs most effectively, both from each other, and the world.

**Coffee**  
Murky liquid in a chipped cup; normally, she'd be disgusted, but the thought that he made it with care and poured it, just for her, makes her love this drink, and love this morning.

_(matches and a spark)_

**Dark**  
They never turn on the lights when they meet; is it because they relish the night, or because they're afraid of the day?

**Despair**  
She so wants to speak, so wants the sentences to flow, but for some wretched and unnamed reason, they can't, so she's left standing next to him, painfully swallowing a mouthful of words she's too scared to say.

**Doors**  
Two doors and three staircases separate their chambers at night, but in his dreams, she's closer than ever; in his dreams, he's allowed to do whatever he wants. And in his dreams, all his battles are victorious.

**Drink**  
He carries her small and fragile body up the stairs, thinking how stupid it was of her to have so many glasses of wine at the banquet; it's not until he's setting her down on her bed when her dark eyes flutter open, making all his prepared speeches, his stupid reprimands, fade away into the back of his mind, never to be used.

**Duty**  
There is no written law that states she cannot love him, and if there were, the likelihood that she wouldn't have cared is high. Yet her duty to rule Cyclonia comes first, and they both know that, but that doesn't mean they have to like it.

**Earth**  
That boundless sky isn't actually boundless, just like this strange romance they've concocted isn't as perfect as they wanted it to be. Sooner or later, they're going to have to fall back down to earth, a crash landing to end all crash landings.

**End**  
They don't have to say goodbye, but they feel as if they do; his service to Cyclonia has always surpassed any personal loyalty he feels for her, and that's just how she wants it. Or so she tells herself.

_(flames)_

**Fall**  
Autumn on their terra is no different from any other season; there are no trees to sport fire-like leaves, nor blades of grass to wilt beneath frost, but both of them dare to imagine, dare to dream, dare to think that oak trees with red leaves can grow in brittle soil after all.

**Fire**  
The flames lick the sides of the fireplace, as she tosses his letters into the blaze, biting her lip, watching the precious words fizz and crackle into nonexistence; it's too dangerous, too risky, to have them lying around, yet she wishes she could keep them, if not to read, then to press her dry lips to and imagine he's here.

**Flexible**  
He must be willing to bend for her, while she refuses to change for anyone but herself.

**Flying**  
She never would agree to go for a ride with him until tonight; he sweeps her into the seat, and they rocket off of land, trailing red into the distant sunrise, something of a cliché image, but one they both cherish nonetheless.

**Food**  
The human side of him she rarely ever sees, but tonight offers her a brief glance into his life, as he sheepishly places a badly concocted dish of some unknown food in front of her, all the while attempting to cling onto his last strands of remaining dignity.

**Foot**  
At the foot of her bed is a trunk, and in that trunk is a box, and in that box is a memory, cushioned in velvet, wrapped with satin. Every now and again, she kneels before the rough hewn wood, takes the memory out, and dreams that it's a memory no longer, but the present, and the truth.

_(blaze)_

**Grave**  
He couldn't find her, spent half the afternoon looking for her, a pile of carefully prepared reports in his arms. He discovered her at a most unexpected place: her old man's grave, watching the dried petals of long forgotten flowers flutter about; and she whispered something in his ear as he arrived that he will never forget: "That's where we'll all be someday."

**Green**  
She is new to this, this thing called love, this adventure named passion, but he is not, and that thought often worries her; _Who has he had before me? And did they matter any more?_

**Head**  
They are the commanders of an army that surpasses all others, the rulers of an empire that sprawls across the Atmos like a plague; they are the heads of a body that makes war like there's no tomorrow. Yet two heads side by side, even though one neck is slightly higher than the other, will always share one view, which they do constantly, with few qualms about the possible repercussions their strange leadership might have.

**Hollow**  
She's often asked herself, whenever he leaves for another mission, what she'd do if he died; most of the time, the answer is just a brisk, disdainful excuse for not caring.

**Honor**  
"Why do you serve me?" The question had been asked out of boredom, and she had not expected a serious answer, but he had given one, nonetheless: "For honor." Yet she couldn't bring herself to believe it, because some distant part of her hoped there was another reason.

_(uproar)_

**Hope**  
He doesn't dare to hope that she'll take their love seriously; sometimes, not even _he _can comprehend what it is they created between themselves: a lie, a truth, or everything at once.

**Light**  
She's never told him, (why should she?), but there's something about the way he treats her, the way he looks at her with such honesty and sincerity, that makes her realize he's the best of her, that he brings out what was long hidden in shadow, and that he and his love are the candle that lights up the nights she once spent in darkness.

**Lost**  
"You've lost again," she whispers, trying to sound menacing and failing, because she can't bring herself to be angry at him when she knows where the blame truly lies.

**Metal**  
The palace is made of steel, and they both wear metal plating on their bodies, and around their hearts. It's a miracle they managed to penetrate each other's shells, but the question of how long these gaps will last still remains, a festering wound.

**New**  
She knocked on his door late at night, and he answered with a groggy hello; her response was to merely brush her lips against his and push him back into bed.

**Old**  
"I'm too old for you," he says, jokingly, but there's a tint of seriousness in his words. She pretends she didn't hear, yet the statement keeps her tossing at night; this difference between them, that achingly long bridge of numbers: does it mean anything?

**Peace**  
White is for peace, red is for war, red is for love; does this mean they are to constantly be fighting each other...and fighting themselves?

**Poison**  
She placed her hands on his bare skin for a moment, and it poisoned his dreams for nights to come, like cyanide dripping bit by bit into his sleep.

**Pretty**  
"Am I good looking?" she had whispered, looking into her mirror one evening. His expression, reflected in the glass, one of pure amusement and truth, told her everything she needed to know, yet he spoke anyways: "No. You're beautiful..."

_(burning)_

**Rain**  
The water drenched the earth, drilled into the hard soil and penetrated the clay; they both sat at the window and looked outside, watching the sky cry, bodies separate, minds entwined.

**Regret**  
He has never told her if he regrets his decisions, if he wants to take back any moments in his life, but she can't help but wonder if it's that distant remorse that holds him back from truly _needing _affection.

**Roses**  
Neither of them are romantic people, neither of them are ones to wear their hearts on their sleeves, yet he still manages to surprise her most pleasantly with a gift of blood colored flowers once every few months.

**Secret**  
The books all say that honesty is what makes a relationship strong, but she begs to differ; she knows that if he knew half her secrets, he'd leave her, never too look back. So she holds them close to her chest, locked away with a key she threw away and buried many years ago.

**Snakes**  
He fears nothing, and assumes she is the same, but all it took was a hydraulic hiss from a faulty pipe to make shivers run up and down her spine and a mild whimper trickle out of her mouth; the obligation to ignore her weaknesses and the want to comfort her clash in his chest, combining into one movement: the barely perceptible twitch of an arm, that's not nearly enough, yet far too much.

**Snow**  
It snowed in the empire for the first time in one hundred and fifty years; the meteorologists are baffled, but he knows the answer: a Weather Crystal, blasted into the sky by his sword, giving him the perfect excuse to drag her out of her lab and into the open air, to catch flakes with their skin, and this day with their eyes.

**Solid**  
Days, weeks, months, years, they all seeped by, but he was her constant, that one solid thing she could expect never to change.

**Spring**  
No flowers come from spring, just heavier clouds than ever, both in the sky, and behind his eyes.

**Stable**  
The state of the war is at a standstill, their current stalemate stable enough for the two of them to pull out a few hours for themselves.

_(dying) _

**Strange**  
It's strange: he knows this love can't last, yet he acts like it will; they waste moments as if they have an eternity to spend between each other, hiding themselves, hiding their hearts.

**Summer**  
The air conditioning system has broken down, and the palace is smoldering under the mid-summer heat. She catches a glimpse of him, his sleeves rolled up to the shoulder, dripping in sweat, diligently training in the distance, and wonders if he's trying to kill himself.

**Taboo**  
Everyone _knows_ about their...affair, everyone knows that they've been entangling themselves with each other, but no one speaks it out loud. It's tradition, it's fear, and it's a strange surreal feeling that if their commanders are lax enough to be distracted, well, then so are they.

_(smoking)_

**Ugly**  
Breaking up is always ugly, in this case especially, because it never really happened. They still tried, they still begged themselves to attempt one more time to give themselves, wholly, to the other, but it was not to be.

**War**  
He blames it on the war, blames it on his defeat, blames their split on what could not have been avoided, while she blames no one but herself.

**Water**  
She feels parched, she feels a desperate need for wet, she wants to be drenched and wanted and needed, all at once, and these things, he cannot give her.

**Welcome**  
"Why did this happen?" she asks. He laughs, bitter and painful, and replies: "Welcome to life, Lark."

**Winter**  
The cold and bitter wind rips at their love, tears it from the earth, carries it to some distant and far off place where they cannot reclaim it. But they're not sure they want to, either.

_(embers)_

**Wood**  
He will die, she will die, the wood of their respective coffins imported and used to nail them up and seal them away for eternity. Their love never was meant to last forever; this was the truth from the beginning: a house of cards, waiting to collapse.

* * *

Hmm...

I'm not too sure about it. Review and give me your opinion.

BLuSH will be updated soon.


End file.
